Thomas Mars of Phoenix on the main stage Saturday night. Photo: David Hall, for the Register

What a turnaround, virtually an about-face after such an unspectacular opening day.

Usually this April oasis comes shimmering into view on Friday, reaches an energetic peak on Saturday, then crawls to a finish on Sunday, the audience too physically exhausted and mentally shredded to muster much enthusiasm until the headliners appear.

Not so this year, where excessively long lines and an afternoon of nothing special provided lackluster setup for a so-so night – all of which was easily trumped by a very strong (if still not fully great) Day 2 that at times seemed to unify this gathering of roughly 90,000 people.

Unlike any other day in Coachella history, this one figured out the secret to fusing the festival’s yin and yang into one ebullient mass transcending the elements. And not just in random blasts, those disjointed moments when something perplexingly popular like, say, Justice takes over the field.

The key: EDM.

From Coachella’s beginning – when a pioneer like Moby still delivered engrossing sets of innovative yet discrete songs, not just delivered droningly boring beats in the big dance tent, as he did Saturday night – electronic dance music, codified as EDM, has been principal to the event’s broader appeal.

That first fest also featured several influential titans, like the Chemical Brothers and Underworld, along with breakouts who either rose to prominence (Thievery Corporation), faded into the ether (Esthero) or simply stuck around (Roni Size, who returned Sunday night). Nowadays names like Bassnectar (Friday), Benny Benassi (Saturday) and Eric Prydz (Sunday) don’t grab hipster headlines or critical attention the way Vampire Weekend or Grizzly Bear do, but they sure draw a ton more people to Indio than those bands.

All along there have been two Coachellas: the rest of the festival, across two outdoor stages and two tented ones, leaving attendees lapping the grounds for set after set … and then Saharachella at the other end of the sprawl, where tens of thousands spend the weekend partying in one spot.

Not Saturday, which achieved rare crowd cross-pollination once the sun went down. Up to that point it had been the usual hodgepodge: couple of O.C.-related newcomers around noontime (the Colourist and Guards), soul on the main stage from Vintage Trouble and Theophilus London, Dropkick Murphys getting rowdy with a Pogue, Café Tacuba elating their always ecstatic fans.

But if you ventured out to Sahara to do the “Harlem Shake” with Baauer just before 4 p.m., you could tell something was afoot. Major moments started busting out with frequency, first noticeable when most of Sahara cleared out just after that novelty dance and streamed over to neighboring Mojave, flooding the smaller tent to see rapper 2 Chainz.

They went right back after that, while a swath of those less enthralled by DJ culture took in a terrific Violent Femmes performance (their first in six years) that saw the rustic trio play their one-of-a-kind 1983 debut in full.

Only later, during the Postal Service’s seemingly polar-opposite set – entirely drawn from its sole album and peripheral material from 10 years ago – did it dawn on me how much these two generational totems have in common: they capture the heartbreak of young adulthood with vividly expressed, everyday poetry. It was appropriate that Ben Gibbard, dominant vocalist for this “imaginary band,” would dedicate a song to the Femmes.

But back to the Sahara masses: In addition to a few other attractions worth checking out next door (like Major Lazer, who roamed atop the crowd in a Flaming Lips-style inflatable ball), they had a variety of reasons to join the action at the main stage, capped by Phoenix’s mostly triumphant closer.

There was so much else before that. Dancers came out in droves to chase remaining daylight away via a fantastic turn from English outfit Hot Chip, who look like a dressed-down Devo with a diminutive, high-pitched vocalist (Alexis Taylor) yet who craft delectable grooves as savvy and relevant as any strictly digital act. (They also wickedly snuck in a reference to a killer Prince B-side, "Irresistible Bitch.")

From there, the increasingly whipping winds could have blown them in any number of directions. Perhaps to the Outdoor Theatre for the infectious fusion of Yeasayer and the glittering synth-infused post-punk of Two Door Cinema Club, or more likely back to Mojave for doses of Simian Mobile Disco and electro-rock forebear New Order.

More than ever, though, they kept returning to the main stage, where beguiling British minimalists the xx arguably would have been the perfect comedown after Phoenix’s set, rather than a captivating challenge that was hard to focus on amid mounting anticipation for what the headliner might have in store. (The xx had an extra of their own: Solange Knowles, Beyoncé’s sister, who joined on their cover of Aaliyah’s “Hot Like Fire.”)

No, Daft Punk didn’t join Phoenix, as was widely speculated – but R. Kelly did, stepping out of the shadows for a remix of “Ignition” mashed with the group’s hit “1901.” That was more a curiosity than a special moment. “For the last two years we’ve been thinking about tonight,” frontman Thomas Mars mentioned. Seems long enough to have hatched a better surprise.

Yet the band (the first French one to headline a day of Coachella) fully delivered the way Radiohead did last year, with a confident, robust set packing plenty of crowd-pleasers (“Lasso” was tightest) but also a good deal of new material, from their about-to-drop album Bankrupt! It mainly proved that the outpouring for them here in 2010 was no fluke. Can’t wait to see them at, say, the Hollywood Bowl, where Phoenix is sure to connect more intensely once glorious pieces like "Entertainment" (also reprised to bookend the set) have sunk in with the same fervency accorded Coldplay and U2 anthems. In Indio, relative unfamiliarity during some songs along with expertly performed but extended instrumental passages led to occasional ebbs in energy.

All the same, they and their pop-geared breathren represent the most fascinating factions of the supposed EDM revolution that’s already been happening for decades. None, however, were more brilliant than the Postal Service, whose sublime set may be the finest of the fest.

With Gibbard grinning and swaying as he sang – when he wasn’t adding live drums to Jimmy Tamborello’s beautifully glitchy synthetics – and with L.A. fixture Jenny Lewis providing not only heavenly backing vocals but assorted instrumentation, it was a fuller embodiment of this precious project than ever could have been displayed a decade ago when their album Give Up quietly took hold in the minds of millions.

Every element was flawless, carefully reconstructed to bring these beloved songs to life – as if they’d always been performed live in the ensuing years of inactivity. Gibbard and Lewis have never had greater Coachella moments with their respective bands. Here, trading verses and harmonies on "The District Sleeps Alone Tonight" and "We Will Become Silhouettes" and reaching a denouement with "Brand New Colony," they were tantalizing a sight, like Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks lost in their own “Rumours”-like reverie.

It was a breathtaking performance – and in its ability to pull people together from all walks, it should stand as this year’s crowning moment. "We might see you again," Gibbard said at the end of it, "and we might not." Let's hope there's at least a few more shows left in them before they disappear again.

User Agreement

Keep it civil and stay on topic. No profanity, vulgarity, racial
slurs or personal attacks. People who harass others or joke about
tragedies will be blocked. By posting your comment, you agree to
allow Orange County Register Communications, Inc. the right to
republish your name and comment in additional Register publications
without any notification or payment.